


Two Idiots Meet at a Library

by 84prettyinpunk79



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, Chicago (City), M/M, i forgot how to tag im sorry, someone teach me again yeah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/84prettyinpunk79/pseuds/84prettyinpunk79
Summary: Hi, so I went through my google docs and subsequently found all the fanfiction I wrote in middle school. It seems pretty terrible to me now, but I thought someone out there might enjoy it. Basically Patrick and Pete meet at a library and they are very much my interpretations of Patrick and Pete at the time. If anyone ever wants another chapter with my hopefully better writing style now lemme know.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz





	Two Idiots Meet at a Library

Pete had been going to a small library in downtown Chicago for a while now, they had vinyl’s, books, and the occasional script to a play. So basically everything all libraries had. He read it all. Well, not all of it, but poems and songs and books about bass, he was sure he had read everything he could on the instrument in the small library. He was sure of this until the librarian who had probably been working there for the past century told him about a new book they would get in a week; Music Theory: All About Bass Guitar. The week it was supposed to come, Pete walked into the library with the hum of the song American Idiot on his lips.  
“I’d like to check out the new book you guys received sometime this week. The new Music Theory, the one on bass guitar.” He asked, trying to be polite, but simply asking to check out a book made him just the slightest bit nervous. Anxiety could fuck off, he was excited for that book. It felt like he already knew everything about bass, but he was always ready to learn more.  
“I’m sorry sir, that book has already been checked out. Feel free to browse the shelves, we have many other books to choose from.” The librarian said with a well practiced smile on her lips. Pete thanked her for her time, and walked over to the small table in the corner of the library, where he sat every time.  
But this time, the seat was taken. It was taken by a man with light brown hair, topped with a black fedora. But this was Pete’s seat, why was this random ass guying sitting there? Of course, the man couldn’t have known Pete had taken the table as his own after sitting there for weeks, he must’ve been a newcomer.  
He thought about brushing this small incident aside, he would just get here earlier than the other man next time, and the seat would stay his. But, what truly got under Pete’s skin, what really pissed him off was the book in the man’s hand. It was Pete’s book. Not Pete’s, but Pete’s. He didn’t own it, but he had subconsciously made it his. The new music theory book. The one on bass.  
Pete needed to do something, fast. He felt like taking the book away from him. The man was smaller than him, and his table was behind a shelf that concealed anything that went on. But it wasn’t this mystery man's fault, he didn’t know that Pete had claimed this book as his. That didn't matter to Pete though. What mattered was that he got that book. He needed to not just stand there, he had to do something before the man noticed him. He noticed the quiet hum of a song coming from the man, he would think it sounded somewhat pleasant if he wasn’t so pissed off about the book.  
“Would you like to take a seat? There is room for more than one here,” The man suggested so quietly that Pete didn’t think he heard him at all until the man glanced up at him. The first thing Pete noticed about the man's face was generally how punchable it was. He sat down in the seat across from the man. He didn’t think the man even noticed him, he seemed like he was too engrossed in his book. “My name is Patrick by the way, nice to meet you.” The man said, Patrick said. Patrick. A name meant so much, so much more than people let someone telling you their names mean. A name is gift, the first piece of someone you usually even know. A name is so much more personal, so much more private then anyone accounts them for.  
“I’m Pete. Nice to meet you too, I guess.” Pete didn’t mean to be rude, but he was kind of caught off guard. What was he supposed to say? Hey, sorry I was standing here standing in front of you watching you. You're just kinda in my seat, and you stole my book. He would sound absolutely fucking stupid if he said that, and he knew it. He didn’t claim the seat. Or the book. But they were unspokenly his. The man didn’t reply to him after that, and continued reading.  
Pete had grabbed a random book off the shelf to seem less awkward. They both had read in silence, until Patrick left. Pete only noticed when he realized the quiet humming that hasn't stopped the entire time had halted. He looked up from his book, seeing Patrick had left, and he had left the book on the table, open to a page, a page with a yellow sticky note which once might’ve been used as a bookmark on it.The book mark read; Patrick: and a phone number, which Pete assumed was Patrick’s in purple pen. He stared at the note in shock for a second before taking it carefully off the page so as to not rip the book, and shoving it in his pocket.

The library was only open once a week on Mondays. Pete could’ve texted Patrick the entire week he didn't see him, but it was satisfying knowing Patrick would be awaiting his call. He might even check his phone every couple hours, he might even think Pete had thrown away his number. It was good to fuck with him, for some reason (maybe Pete was just slightly fucked up, but again, it's fine.). Like having a one night stand and promising to call the next day, but not like that at all. He thought about Patrick as he went to a comfortable little bar near the library, which had an open mic night every saturday. He liked hearing the music. The young talent that actually might’ve thought they had a chance in the music industry, they had hope. It was almost refreshing. It was almost hilarious.The people who played whatever music they wanted would sign up on a sheet near the door, and one of the barista’s would call their names to the small wooden stage with a stool on it in the corner of the bar. People would watch, clap at the end. It was an amazing atmosphere. The usual went up to par. Girl’s who thought spoken poetry was actually a thing. Faded hipster with guitars. He focused on his drink and let the music overtake his ears. The third person’s music came to a halt, and the barista’s voice rang through the bar again, barely cutting through the noise of the human race when combined with alcohol.  
“Patrick Stump, please come to the stage.” The woman’s voice said, and footsteps sounded towards the stage, and the man, Patrick got on the stool, pulling his guitar open from its case and plugging it in. It was Patrick. Patrick. Purple pen on a yellow sticky note with a phone number Pete wasn’t going to call yet to fuck with him Patrick. He looked much shorter when he was standing up. He wondered how old he was. Old enough to be in a bar.  
“Hey um, My names Patrick Stump, I’m gonna be singing Life On Mars by David Bowie...so, yeah. Here we go.” The microphone crackled at the beginning, but it was the most words he had ever heard the man say. He looked at him, at the same time Patrick looked directly at him, the realization of how he knew Pete registered on his face, and Pete watched carefully. He watched each emotion flow through his face. Realization. Nervousness, most likely because he was going to sing, and he obviously was new to this part of town. A brief anger. Probably because Pete didn’t call him, he could almost hear him thinking why hasn’t he called me? Embarrassment in being caught staring at him. He looked back to the crowd in a whole view.  
Patrick rarely ever had stage fright. He rarely ever sang though. He knew he wasn’t too bad at singing, but he didn't think he was anything special at it. He was better at guitar, in his opinion. For some reason, being in the corner on a stage surrounded by people with low expectations, which should’ve calmed him, didn't matter. Everyone was waiting for the music to start, but he just couldn't.  
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but my guitar isn't working for some reason.” He said, hoping it was a good enough excuse. He got out of there, fast. Only stopping to pack up his guitar right, and making eye contact with Pete again.  
Pete left right behind him. Patrick walked down the street, still on edge from the sudden stage fright. It was already dark. He had lived in the suburbs of Chicago, and just recently moved out of the outer suburbs of Chicago to pursue music more. It was cold. He looked around, and saw a figure behind him a couple feet. He kept walking. He wanted to get home before it got even colder, and windier. They didn't call it the windy city for no reason.  
“Hey! Kid, wait up!” Pete yelled to him, he didn't know why he followed him. He felt like he held some kind of responsibility over him. Maybe it was the guilt over not calling him. He knew he must’ve played a part somehow in the kid leaving. Patrick turned around.  
“What? Oh, hey, Pete right?” He said casually, only slightly irritated from being called “kid” He was twenty three, far from being a “kid” in his mind. “Yeah, Pete. Why didn’t you perform tonight?” Pete asked, why didn’t you call? Patrick wanted to say in response, but didn't. “My guitar wasn’t working.” He explained, shrugging. “You didn’t even try to play it, how would you know if it didn't work?” He questioned. “I’m new to this whole performing thing, okay? So I guess you can expect some technical difficulties. It’s not like it mattered if I performed again, what’s the big deal?” Patrick said, a hint of accusation in his voice.  
“I was just wondering, damn. It’s dangerous to walk alone in Downtown Chicago at night, do you have anyone picking you up?” Pete asked, and Patrick simply shook his head no in response. Downtown Chicago was a creepy cliche at night, when you were walking alone at almost 11 PM. Pete didn’t reply to the head shake, so they just continued walking in almost awkward silence.  
“You didn’t call. Not to sound cocky or anything but just with the way you fucking looked into my soul it seemed hard to believe that you could be straight and y’know I’ve never been wrong about these things, I could’ve sworn you seemed interested in me and y’know you're pretty damn attractive and shit and just. Yeah. You didn’t call or text for that matter.” Patrick’s Pete could practically feel the kid’s embarrassment as he waited for him to run out of words. “Don’t get too cocky in this city, kid. You're cute, you’ve got the whole innocent look. Not ruined by life yet. I didn’t feel like disappointing you with some one night stand then never speaking to you again afterwards.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that is where that ends. Again, lemme know if you somehow want more.


End file.
